Page 57 of Pure Killers

“A copy of everything we’ve got on Cocooner. New and old.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You need to be doing something. And like it or not, you’ve got insight we’ve never had before.”

I snort. What a cost that came at.

"Why weren't you there today?" he presses as I turn away, back towards the kitchen,

"You don't need me."

"That's hard to argue with right now."

I swing back around, finding the turn unsteady. "I think I've earned a week off."

"Oh, really? Caught someone, have you? Put a killer in prison lately, maybe?"

I sneer as he crosses the room. "You and those two are out there chasing Cocooner's smoke. Like that’s doing any more good."

Flinching when he steps forward, around the mess of rubbish on the floor to snatch the bottle out of my hand, I’m too slow to react and snatch it back. "And what are you doing?" he asks, lifting it to squish the amber liquid. "Drinking your way to finding Needler, is that it?"

My lip curls. I reach for the bottle, and he pulls it out of my reach without taking a step. "I'm not looking for him anymore," I grunt.

"Bullshit," Dirk says to my back as I turn for the kitchen. If he won't give me that bottle, I'll get another one. No way am I looking inside that damned binder.

"What does it matter to you?" I strain, unsteadily reaching into my stash, knocking a bottle over before I get a grip on another one. When I come back down, I'm unprepared for Dirk to be in here with me, looming over me. I press my teeth together. "Why are you so keen to know if I'm still looking for Needler?"

"Aside from the fact you're running yourself into the ground and you're borderline unbearable to know right now?" Dirk asks, watching me unscrew the lid.

"Really? That’s it? Formybenefit?" My mouth stays open as he snatches this bottle too. Resisting a strong urge to shove him, as ineffectual as though it may be, I lift my chin and say, "Maybe you don't want me to know who it really is!"

I'm angry, not thinking. I turn away and reach high into the cupboard again, but I don't even get the bottle all the way downbefore Dirk snatches it, too. This time, he doesn't stop there. He pitches it at the tiles on the other side of the kitchen, and it smashes, crumples, glass glinting wet.

"Hey! What the…"

Then he smashes the other one he's holding. Glass skitters across the tiles. I give in and shove at his chest. "What the hell is your problem!?"

He spreads his hands. "Why don't you tell me, huh? Why don't you say what you've been beating around these past months?"

I know what I want to say, to accuse him of. But even through the haze I've been swimming in this past week—drowning in, those words will be irreparable. So I say something else. "I know about your little mob deals. Tipping off the club owners about raids."

He frowns a moment, gaze locking on mine, but otherwise doesn’t seem concerned, which is aggravating. I’d pictured horror, wonder… something. "How could you know about that?"

"I followed you," I blurt out. "At the diversion ball, whatever. I heard everything!"

His eyes narrow. “You followed me?That’swhy we didn't catch Needler before he killed someone?”

“That’s not why.”

“You were supposed to be looking for Needler!”

"I WAS!"

The silence between us is so laced it’s almost not a silence anymore. Blood thumps in my ears, my last words echoing through my head. The muscle in his jaw works as he stares down at me.

With a dangerously calm voice, Dirk asks, "Is this what you've really wanted to ask?"

"Fine! I'll say it!" I throw my hands out in frustration, letting the alcohol, the idiocy, speak, letting it ruin everything that’s not already shattered. “You're a good fit."

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